


Rub it up on me

by rivers_bend



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Porn Watching, Porn with Feelings, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Rubbing your dicks together is like gay sex 101. More basic than that, even. It’s the most basic thing there is. He and Harry are past tongues in arses level. They’ve sucked and fucked in every position, Harry’s rubbed off on his chest so he could smear his come through Nick’s chest hair, Nick’s come on Harry’s back, fucked between his thighs, and he can’t even count how many handjobs they’ve exchanged. How could they not have done this? “We must have,” Nick says.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rub it up on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fiddleyoumust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleyoumust/gifts).



> fiddleyoumust tweeted something about Harry and Nick touching dicks, and this story sprang fully formed into my brain. I'm sorry I didn't get it done for your birthday, bb, but the thought was there!
> 
> the obvious: I don't know any of the people whose names and public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply this ever happened.

Nick hasn’t really ever been one to watch porn with the blokes he gets off with—that’s more the kind of thing he does with Aimee when they’ve had too much wine—but if a year of shagging Harry Styles has taught him any lessons at all, it’s that Harry is not Nick’s usual anything. 

Besides, the boy in the video is a friend of Collette’s, and his page needs hits or something. 

They’re on the sofa, because Harry had insisted on toast to go with the terrible-smelling herbal concoction he’s been drinking this week to combat the tickly throat he’d felt at the studio Wednesday. For all Nick’s said more than once he wouldn’t kick Harold out of bed for eating biscuits, he just changed the sheets, and toast crumbs don’t belong in delicate places besides. 

Harry’s ignored the two-thirds of the settee Nick left for him, and wedged his arse between Nick’s hip and the arm, throwing his bare legs across Nick’s lap. Nick’s still got his jeans on, though with the way Harry’s not-so-subtly brushing his calf against Nick’s crotch, he’s wishing he hadn’t. Also not helping the junk-in-skinny-jeans situation, for amateur stuff, the porn’s not half bad. The lighting’s bright enough, and though the camera’s obviously sitting on a shelf or something, the angle’s good and it stays in focus. Both boys are young and fit—a waif-like Asian lad and a beefier Joe Jonas lookalike—either actual boyfriends or pretty good actors, with the tender smiles and lingering touches between kisses. 

Though Harry’s still munching his toast and sipping his tea, he’s got his eyes steady on the laptop perched on the coffee table like he’s into it. They just had sex before going out to dinner with Gemma and Lou, but that doesn’t mean Harry’s not thinking about another round. Doesn’t mean Nick’s not either, honestly. 

The boys on screen finally slip their pants off and start getting more serious about the proceedings. Joe-alike rolls on top of his boyfriend, propped on his elbows so he can look down between their bodies to where he’s rubbing his cock through the slick seeping from Collette’s friend’s slit. The friend’s dick jumps every time Joe-alike’s rubs along the length of it and gets to the sensitive head. 

“It’s been too long since we did that,” Nick says idly to Harry. 

Harry takes a short little breath like maybe he’d forgotten to inhale for a moment. “We’ve never done that,” he says. 

Which, that can’t be right. Rubbing your dicks together is like gay sex 101. More basic than that, even. It’s the most basic thing there is. He and Harry are past tongues in arses level. They’ve sucked and fucked in every position, Harry’s rubbed off on his chest so he could smear his come through Nick’s chest hair, Nick’s come on Harry’s back, fucked between his thighs, and he can’t even count how many handjobs they’ve exchanged. How could they not have done this? “We must have,” Nick says. 

Tearing his eyes away from the screen, Harry locks gazes with Nick. “Trust me,” he says, voice even rougher than usual. “I would remember if we’d done that. That’s fucking _hot_.” 

Harry’s not wrong about that. But he must be wrong about the other thing. He must be. “How have we never done that?” Nick asks, pointing at the screen where Joe-alike is rolling his hips faster now, holding their dicks together with circled finger and thumb. “Or the grinding part at least.” 

Harry frowns in the ridiculously adorable way he has when he’s more confused than upset. “I don’t know,” he says petulantly. “You always have your pants on.” 

Nick thinks about that. He does seem to spend an inordinate amount of time with Harry either pushing or pulling him onto the bed before he’s managed to finish undressing. Partly because Harry has some kind of super speed when it comes to getting his kit off that he’s never exhibited any other time, and partly because, like tonight, he’s usually got a head start. By the time Nick manages to catch up, they’ve done the snogging and grinding part of the show and are moving on to the fucking and sucking. Still. “That’s crazy,” Nick says. Because even if Harry _is_ right, it’s crazy. 

“We should do something about it.” Harry dumps his plate and mug on the coffee table and shuts the laptop with the video still playing.

“Okay,” Nick agrees. He’s got half a glass of wine left, but orgasms with Harry beats a mid-priced Chardonnay any day. Harry starts tugging at Nick’s shirt before he can even put his glass down, and Nick laughs. “Slow down, eager. This attitude is how we always end up with you humping my pants instead of getting some good, old-fashioned dick-on-dick action.” 

Harry’s pouty lower lip is spectacular, and Nick can’t help leaning in to nibble at it. 

“Naked,” Harry mutters, lip trapped between Nick’s teeth. 

Nick laughs again. “Go on with you. Bedroom. Get naked yourself.” 

Harry unfolds himself from Nick’s lap and stands, taking Nick’s glass away once he’s steady on his feet. “You first.” 

 

They go together, and Harry sits on the bed in pants and t-shirt, watching while Nick strips off. Nick’s been naked in front of him scores of times, but it’s different having your dick in the face of someone who’s about to blow you. Tonight, the lights are on, and Harry’s half a dozen feet away, and Nick’s very conscious he’s taking his clothes off in front of one of the most desired boys in the world. It’s kind of intimidating. “Get your kit off,” Nick mutters. “And see if that massage oil’s still in the bed table.”

“You gonna massage me with that?” Harry asks cheekily, gesturing at Nick’s dick, half chubbed up from the porn and the ministrations of Harry’s well-turned ankle. 

“No,” Nick says, dry as he can manage under the circumstances. “I thought we’d make some chips.” 

Harry sticks his tongue out, and Nick has to pretend to concentrate very hard on getting his jeans the rest of the way off so Harry doesn’t catch him grinning. 

The jeans _are_ very tight, though, and in the end, Nick’s not so much pretending. By the time he looks up again, Harry’s starkers, arse in the air as he bends over to dig through the bottom drawer. 

Nick wants to fuck him. 

But before he can ask if Harry’d maybe rather do that, Harry rises triumphant, bottle of oil in hand, its **NOT CONDOM SAFE** warning facing Nick. That reminds him how good it’s gonna feel, his naked cock slipping and sliding over Harry’s naked cock, and the words die on his tongue. “Give it here,” he says instead, holding out his hand for the bottle.

Harry hands it over, and lies back in the center of the bed, head on a pillow, legs spread enough Nick could lie between them. 

“You _have_ done this before with _someone_ , though, right?” Nick asks, still stuck on how they probably should have done this thirteen months ago.

“I naked wrestled Niall for the remote once,” Harry says. “But neither of us were hard.” He strokes one hand up his dick to his belly, making sure Nick notices that isn’t a problem here. 

“Your _life_ , Harry Styles. You do not have a normal life.” 

Harry shrugs a little shrug and smiles a little smile, managing to look both smug and sweet at the same time. “Come massage me with that thing,” he says, beckoning with a cheeky finger at Nick’s dick. 

“And,” Nick says, even as he’s crawling between Harry’s knees, “your lines need serious work.” 

“They look like they’re working already to me.” Harry reaches out and flicks open the bottle’s cap with one thumb, cupping Nick’s hand and bringing it forward so if he tilted just a bit, he’d be pouring oil onto Harry’s belly. Which is what he was planning on doing with it, but the stubborn part of his brain wants to not, now that Harry’s asking for it. 

For once, Nick successfully tells the stubborn part of his brain to shut up and let him have his orgasms. 

 

The way Harry’s abs jump when the thin stream hits his skin, the oil must be chilly, and the side of Nick that still wants to have the last word is pleased. The side of him that wants to do this thing with Harry that Harry’s never done before, that wants to make it good for him, reaches out one large hand to warm it up. 

He rubs Harry’s belly with oil, adding more when the first spill of it absorbs in. Harry squirms, half ticklish, half trying to get Nick to put his hand on Harry’s dick, and Nick slows his movements, rubs oil into the tops of Harry’s thighs as well. Harry bites his lip; Nick suspects he’s trying not to beg. “Patience,” Nick chides teasingly, as he fills the palm of his hand with oil. Then, eyes on Harry’s face, he starts stroking his own dick. 

“You’re mean.” Harry pouts dramatically, but he doesn’t touch himself, so Nick figures he’s got another five or ten seconds at least to put on a show. He makes the best of it, getting his dick all slick, rubbing oil onto his balls, smearing his own belly. Then Harry hooks his legs around Nick’s arse and tugs, making Nick fall on top of him. Nick loses the oil off the side of the bed on his way down. Fortunately a) it’s almost empty, and b) the rug on that side is machine washable. 

Though Nick’s brain manages to focus on those things for less than a second before all thoughts other than how good Harry feels are wiped from his mind by Harry moaning low and rough in Nick’s ear. Also by how fucking good Harry feels. Christ. They really, _really_ should have done this before. 

“You like it?” Nick manages, digging elbows and knees into the mattress so he doesn’t just slide right off Harry’s hips. He’d forgotten it’s harder to do this all slicked up, but _damn_ it’s amazing. Harry’s cock is hot and fat between their bellies, and sideways and down… yes. Right there. Hot and fat against Nick’s dick, a slippery, silky friction. 

“Yes. Fuck.” Harry’s hands clutch at Nick’s ribs, his waist, then settle on his arse, holding Nick where he is and trying to speed up the roll of his hips at the same time. 

Tapping two fingertips chidingly on Harry’s shoulders, Nick smiles. “Let’s make it last longer than thirty seconds, then.” 

“I just—” Harry loosens his grip on Nick’s arse cheeks and slows the hitching of his own hips to a lazy rocking. “It’s so _hot_. I wasn’t— _oh fuuuuck_ —wasn’t sure why we needed the oil.” 

Nick adjusts his rhythm to match Harry’s until their cockheads are bumping past each other, sending a zing up Nick’s spine and a fizz down his legs. Something similar’s happening to Harry, judging by the catch of his breath and the way he’s biting his lip. Nick says, “Don’t _need_ it, exactly, but it’s nice.” 

Harry chuckles, a single, incredulous huff. “Nice.” 

Nick leans down and kisses him. 

“More than nice,” Harry mutters against Nick’s lips when Nick has a pause to breathe for a minute. Nick can’t disagree. Then Harry starts doing some yoga shit, Nick doesn’t even know, Harry’s legs pretzeled around his waist, abs all firm, hips rolling like it’s not just his skin but his joints that are oiled, and Nick’s basically holding on for the ride. _Nice_ is light years in the past.

Orgasm starts coiling its heat through Nick’s pelvis and down his thighs. He arches under Harry’s hands, leans in to give him another kiss. “For someone who’s never done this before, you sure seem to know what you’re doing,” he points out rather breathlessly. 

“’S’like fucking. ‘M good at fucking.” 

Nick won’t argue with that. 

The plan is to ride right up to the edge of coming then slow Harry down—Nick really does want to make it last—but the full crest of Nick’s orgasm takes him by surprise, and he ends up twitching himself right off Harry’s slick belly into an undignified tangle on the bed next to him, while Harry, giggling, finishes himself off with quick, efficient jerks. 

“And you wanted _me_ to make it last,” Harry says fondly, wiping his own come onto his belly to mix with Nick’s. “Who’s the teenager here?” 

Nick huffs, shifts so he’s more comfortable. “Give it a few years, Harold. You won’t think ‘teenager’ is such an insult.” 

“Hush.” Harry pinches lightly at Nick’s happy trail. “You’re not old.” 

There’s a pause while Nick covers Harry’s pinching fingers with his hand before Harry gets the idea to start actually pulling on Nick’s belly hairs, then Harry adds, “Dad,” with his slyest, cheekiest grin. 

At least Harry’s waited til after they’ve come this time. “Oy, Frankie,” Nick says sternly. “Watch it.” 

“Can still see your face when she asked if I was your son,” Harry says, tugging his hand from under Nick’s so he can poke Nick in the nose with an oily, jizzy finger.

“Ugh.” Nick wipes his nose off. “You couldn’t even _see_ my face. You were still in the changing room.” 

Harry grins and wipes his finger on Nick’s face again: his cheek this time. “Doesn’t matter. I can still see it.” 

“I hate you.” Nick catches Harry’s finger and pins it to Harry’s hip. “And I can _actually_ still see the face you made when they thought you were Frankie Cocozza. So there.” 

With another laugh, Harry knocks Nick flat on his back and kisses him soundly. It’s an effective and gratifying end to the conversation. Kissing Harry’s always good, and also Nick got the last word in. 

 

Later, when the kissing’s petered out and they’re lying side-by-side, Harry playing idly with Nick’s fingers, Harry asks, “Do you think Collette’s friend got the hit count or whatever? Since we didn’t finish the video.” 

Because of course Harry would worry they hadn’t successfully completed the favour he said he’d do for a friend of a friend of a friend. _I love you,_ Nick wants to answer. But it will probably come out sounding sarcastic, and he actually does love Harry, in ways they seem to have silently agreed not to talk about just yet. “You’re ridiculous,” he says instead. 

“They showed me a good time. Figure I should pay them back somehow.” 

“ _Who_ showed you a good time? I’m pretty sure that was me.” 

Harry brings Nick’s hand up so he can kiss the bony protrusion of Nick’s wrist. “But they actually show-showed me. Like a how-to video. And if I recall correctly, I had to get myself off while you lay there looking stunned and covered in jizz.” 

Nick enjoys a lot of things about time spent with Harry, but he’s pretty sure the post-coital banter is near the top of the list. “You’re a terrible human being.” Nick pulls their hands over to his mouth so he can nip at Harry’s wrist bone in retaliation. “See if I ever let your dick touch my dick again.” 

“Mmm hmm.” Harry leaves his wrist resting on Nick’s mouth. It’s not actually that comfortable. 

“Will we wash some of this oil off?” Nick asks, moving their entwined hands down to his chest instead. “Or are we sleeping in filth?” Nick forgot to get baby wipes after they used the last of them, and tissues aren’t up to the massage oil challenge. Not even the man-sized ones. 

Harry turns on his side and cuddles close. “Filth.” 

Filth is another thing Nick doesn’t usually do with the blokes he gets off with. He never would have run out of baby wipes back in the day. But Harry’s arm is heavy on top of him, and Nick’s comfortable. And Harry won’t complain if he turns on The Simpsons in a few. 

“Filth it is, then.” Nick pulls the sheet up to ward off draughts. And monsters. Harry closes his eyes and sighs.


End file.
